On Sickness

I am in my 16th year of parenting. Part of the gig includes taking care of sick kids. This is something I find stressful for many reasons. I hate seeing my kids sick, hate seeing them miserable, hate worrying about complications, hate my lack of medical knowledge and my poor nursing skills. But I find sick kids stressful for another reason - as a family with two full-time out-of-the-house working parents, sick kids can be hard to juggle. 

I found this short blog entry from 11 years ago in Florida, when Daniel was a baby: 

"This has been the Semester of Sickness. On Friday, Daniel's daycare called that he was running a fever --> he is *still* sick today and we'll need to split the day again tomorrow. What do people do that don't have flexible schedules? Between the number of days we've missed with our kids' illnesses, I think we would both have been fired this semester."

Then from 7 years ago, I found this post from the year Daniel started preschool:

"Moms of preschoolers, how often do your kids get sick? I feel like Daniel is sick all.the.time this semester. The last month it's been strep throat, strep again, random virus, pink eye, bronchitis, and woke up today with a high fever and "it hurts to cough." We are taking him to urgent care today and will call our dr's office Monday, but is this normal?? Or par for the course for daycare? Thanks for letting me vent."

My kids are older now. And yet, with my 11-year-old sick with strep throat that is not improving and in a house where workers are constantly in and out with renovations, I cannot leave him home alone. Taking care of a sick 11-year-old is much easier than a sick toddler, but I feel like sickness levels the playing field in some ways. Advancements in independence and autonomy are seemingly wiped out overnight. I am still disappointing students at work when I am not available to meet in person at work today. My work productivity still suffers. I feel like a new mom in some ways, inexperienced and unsure. 

Will and I have an extreme amount of privilege in our jobs. Outside of our teaching times, we are very flexible. I am thankful every time our children are sick we are able to take care of them so easily. My heart breaks for those who must make real sacrifices and hard choices in the face of illness. 

So today, I am trying to soak it all in. Soak in my tween boy whose glassy eyes today revert him back to a younger preschooler. Soak in the rich blessings that my children are healthy and illnesses are rarer than health. Soak in the privilege of holding a job I love that does not fire me when I work from home when my children are ill. Soak in the care-giving role that will not last forever. 

Cheers to all parents tonight, with healthy and sick kids alike, doing the best they can.

16 Halloweens: 2004 to 2019

We have had 16 Halloweens with our kids!

2004

2005

2006

2007

2008

2009

2010

2011

2012

2013

2014

2015

2016

2017

2018

2019

Twentysomething

I overheard a young woman today talking today to another woman of retirement age. "Everyone says right now is the hardest decade," the young woman confided. "Your 20s. Your 20s are the hardest decade. Everything gets easier from there, people say."

I began my 20s as an undergraduate college student in Kansas. I was planning to attend law school and, on my journey of five different official majors, was majoring in history and psychology. I was married, but, beyond that life decision, lacked certainty about the future. Time seemed vast and limitless, endless options poised within my grasp.

I ended my 20s by graduating with a PhD in accounting, celebrating my 11th wedding anniversary, living in Florida, and as the mom of two beautiful children. My future trajectory seemed decided - I would interview across the country for tenure-track accounting professor jobs, find a place where my husband could work, and settle down with a single-minded focus on making tenure and taking care of my family.

In no other decade of my life did I change so much, grow so much, live so many new experiences, try on new options, and, ultimately, discover who I was. In my 20s, I learned I loved being a mom. When I first got married, I was convinced that children were in the far distant future, but as college graduation approached and life became less tumultuous, I became obsessed with the idea of having a baby. I had my daughter when I was 24 years old and working as a tax accountant at a CPA firm and I was instantly smitten. I had my son when I was 28 years old and a full-time accounting PhD student and my entire family felt complete. In my 20s, I learned how to grow from a couple into a family.

I learned I loved accounting. It seems laughable now, but I really did not enjoy my early accounting classes. I felt they lacked rigor, ignored critical thinking, and were little more than glorified bookkeeping. I was so wrong. I took a taxation course when I was 20 years old that changed my life. Instead of drifting along with the nebulous goal of going to law school someday, I became focused on pursuing a career in taxation and ultimately a transition to academia. I had barely heard of accounting when I entered my twenties, and I could hardly imagine a life without it when I exited.

I learned I was stronger than I thought. I learned I could hold a job that required interacting with clients in a professional capacity and I was not terrible. I learned I could chuck it all to go back to graduate school one day. I learned I could resign from a job to be a full-time mom and then decide that was not my calling, either. I learned I was capable, flexible, resilient.

I am not sure if my 20s were my hardest decade, but they were my most formative, most memorable, most impactful. And that is worth something.   

It's a Different Model

When I was younger, I was convinced there was a so-called right and a so-called wrong way to live, and that the key to life was merely discovering those principles. I had a great deal of black-and-white thinking. I was constantly comparing myself to others, wondering if others' different choices or values meant my own had failed.

One of my shifts in thinking that has brought me increased joy and decreased mental anguish is this mantra: "It's a different model." Instead of thinking of areas of absolutely right or hopelessly wrong, I have tried to understand where organizations or people are coming from and accepting that their ways of thinking are often because they hold up a different world view, a different set of values, a different model.

This shift in thinking originated when I moved from academia into industry back into academia. Why is leveraging previous work sign of academic dishonesty in academia but a sign of efficiency in industry? It's a different model. Why is a resume limited to one page in industry but a curriculum vitae 20+ pages in academia? Industry values efficiency, expediency, fast bottom-line results. Academia values originality, deep thinking, thoroughness. It's a different model. Even within academia, so many differences abound between disciplines. I am in accounting, and our publication process is long, arduous, tantamount to eating our young. My husband is in engineering, and the publication process has a lightning-fast turn-around time, committed to publishing cutting-edge research while it is still relevant. It's a different model.

Understanding that people, too, live by different models is enormously freeing. Why do some people move across the country for their careers, either by choice or requirement, whereas others are committed to putting down roots in their hometown? It's a different model. Why are some families happiest with a large brood of children and some are happiest as child-free by choice? It's a different model.

It is tempting to think the model we live by is the penultimate guide to our organizations, our culture, our lives. But while it works for us, it may not be optimal for everyone. Because we all have different models.

Yet Another Weight Post

I have written extensively about my weight in the past, about how I have gained weight past the point where I am comfortable, but am famished anytime I cut calories or food groups to lose weight. What more could there possibly be to say? A bit more.

My scale is currently broken (and probably just needs new batteries since I have used it so frequently). I am honestly not sure what I weigh now, but looking at pictures of myself compared to photos from a few years ago, I can definitely tell I have put on weight.

And here is the thing - I am not sure if I care? All my recent blood work suggests I am healthy. I can still move in ways which bring joy. I need to do a better job of eating fewer processed foods, but that is more for health than weight.

I have been successful at losing weight in the past, but I have consistently been hungry every time I have restricted what I am eating. And, every time I lose weight and go back to eating according to my hunger cues, I gain back the weight I previously lost.

Maybe I would be healthier if I weighed what I did a few years ago. But maybe not. And being able to eat to satisfaction, to not be hungry, to walk around with a clear head and a sense of peace - that is worth a tremendous amount.

Ghosting

In recent years, a new term has emerged to define an old phenomenon: "ghosting." To "ghost" someone means to end a relationship with someone suddenly and without explanation, by stopping all forms of communication and apparently dropping off the face of the earth. Ghosting is as old as time, but is even easier to accomplish in our text and message-heavy society. Being ghosted feels horrible. It is like gas-lighting, when you imagine you are going crazy. Why did the person suddenly withdraw from all communication? Why are texts and messages no longer returned? Did we have a true relationship before, or am I imagining that, too?

Today, however, it occurred to me that as horrible as this behavior is - I have engaged in, too. I am someone who prides myself on responding to all texts, getting back to people on emails in a timely message, following through on communication. But about 10 years ago, I definitely ghosted someone.

Ten years ago, Daniel was a year old. I had breastfed for the year and had a large freezer supply of pumped milk on hand I had pumped and not used. I was unsure what to do with the frozen milk, but had read online that such milk could often be donated person-to-person. I joined a Yahoo so-called "Milk Sharing" Group and posted I had a large amount of frozen milk to give to someone in the Orlando area. The replies came in by the dozens. Not at a single person was in the Orlando area or even close. But many had very passionate, heart-felt pleas for the frozen milk - and lived across the country. One of these was a very sweet, kind email from a woman with a premature baby unable to produce enough breast milk - and who lived not in Florida, but in New England.

I was completely overwhelmed at this point in my life. I had two small children. I was finishing up a PhD. We had just depleted a large amount of our savings over the last year because of paying for two children in daycare. But I reached out to this one particular response and said I would try to send the milk to her. I sent her my medical records to show I was healthy. We talked about the need to overnight the frozen breast milk so the milk could be kept frozen. I agreed I would work on getting things ready for her.

And then, this is the horrible part. I ghosted her. I was so tired. The thought of figuring out logistics for mailing frozen breast milk seemed insurmountable. I could have handled this in so many ways. I could have bucked down and figured out how to mail the breast milk. I could have asked for people from the recipient. Or, most logically, I could have written her a heartfelt email myself, explaining that I had agreed to send her my frozen supply under the best of attentions, but I did not have the energy to carry this through for an out-of-state donor. I did none of these actions. I simply quit emailing and dropped off the face of the earth. The part I am most ashamed of - this sweet lady sent me a nice email after several weeks and asked if I was still planning to send her the milk? I ignored the email. I had the perfect opportunity to state what was going on, and, still, I ignored it because I was embarrassed I had not held up my end of the agreement and did not know how to explain I was backing out.

This is not excusable. I should have acted in a much more mature fashion. But yet, thinking about my behavior in ghosting someone, it gives me a bit of insight into when someone else engages in this behavior. In my case, my ignoring the lady had nothing to do with her and everything to do with me. I was embarrassed. I was tired. I was overwhelmed. And when people drop off after communicating with us, perhaps they, too are tired or overwhelmed or embarrassed or dealing with something we do not understand.

I am not defending ghosting. And this kind of behavior is infinitely more hurtful when it happens with someone with whom we have a close relationship. But it helps me to remember that it often isn't about us at all. And I am very sorry that I ghosted you, Sweet Mama with the Premature Baby, and I wish I had handled it differently.

The Loneliest Parenting Years

I have something controversial to share and I know not everyone will agree with me. We all have different experiences and preferences and needs, and my story will look different from others. But here goes: I think being a parent of a high school student is one of the loneliest stages of parenting.

Hear me out. When our kids were babies, problems were much simpler. Privacy concerns were minimal. Most concerns were universal. It was easy to share struggles with other parents because so many could relate - and there were few ramifications for our children if we shared these challenges. You are tired because you were up every two hours with a hungry newborn? Me, too, sister. Your child is having a hard time transitioning to solid food? Don't sweat it, friend. You are agonizing over whether to stay at home or return to the workforce? Do whatever works best for your family, mama.

As our children grow older and start elementary school, a parenting lull occurs. Our children still need us in ways more complicated than ever before, but the physical needs have dropped off and the emotional needs have not yet increased. And it feels as if all parents are on a similar playing field. Did you bottle-feed or breast-feed? Doesn't matter one iota now. Were you a cloth or disposable diapering family? No one cares. Instead, most of the needs of this age - developing academic skills, fostering independence, cultivating character - still feel universal and as if all parents are on the same team.

I posit that, though, as our children reach late middle school and enter high school, that it becomes more difficult to share with others. Much of this is because of a growing need for privacy and autonomy for our children. Our children's struggles are real, but their developing need to be in control of their own story means that we can share this narrative with few others. This need for seclusion of information is important, but also means that parents can sometimes feel alone and that they are the only family going through similar struggles. Is your child failing calculus? Lonely and longing for a tight group of friends? Struggling to land a part-time job? It is much less likely we will share these struggles compared to in the earlier years.

But, at least in my case, I sometimes hesitate to share because I fear judgment in a way I did not before. Should my daughter be studying for standardized college entrance tests right now? I don't know, but if I push this, then I might be a neurotic, overbearing parent, prioritizing academic achievement about all. If I don't push it, then I might be a slacker, neglectful parent who is jeopardizing my child's future. My daughter is not doing many extracurricular activities - a balm for happiness or too many hours to be idle and slothful? Obviously, I know these reactions are crude exaggerations and very few people are judging others. But I hear so much contradictory information that it is often difficult for me to decide what is the optimal path.

I know the teenage and high school parenting years are not lonely for everyone. But they are lonelier than I imagined for me. And I hope that be being honest about challenges of this space can make everyone feel more connected.

Too Old for That

The last decade of my life contained far fewer changes than my first three decades. I stayed in the same city, in the same job, in almost the same house for the entire time. I did not give birth to any children. I did not earn any new degrees. I barely bought any new jeans.

But in so many ways, when I compare myself to 10 years ago to today, the main theme is that I now feel too old for many activities I used to take for granted, such as:

- Staying up late at night to finish work. I used to stay awake until 2 a.m. if I needed to knock a project out. Then that become midnight. Then 10 p.m. Now, I will occasionally work late at night if I need to finish something, but it has to be important. And that is rare, because most things are not that important.

- Treating everything as important. Part of the stress from my 20s was treating every task as important, every request a fire drill, every suggestion a mandate. Now, at 40, I lack the energy to pounce on every twitch and am more selective about what demands my attention.

- Worrying about the price of transparency. I used to carefully curate the information I would share with others. I worried if someone discovered all I felt and thought they would realize I was an imposter. Now, I am over that. Not having to weigh and worry what I share or keep close to my heart has been enormously freeing. I am who I am, and I don't have the energy to keep track of multiple versions of myself.

- Skimping on self-care. I used to think of self-care as indulgent. Now, I see it as essential. Getting enough sleep, exercising regularly, trying to eat healthily (my biggest challenge), and taking care of my mental and physical health struggles are the keys to keep moving forward.

- Neglecting my passions. My focus has been on my career and family for all my adult life. As I get older, though, I feel nudges toward outlets I had enjoyed as a child but have long since abandoned. None of these nudges is stronger than with writing. I feel words pouring from my fingers constantly, springing from my soul, making up for lost years when I stuffed this part of my being away. I am too old now to neglect what brings meaning and fulfillment to each day.

I am in a healthier place now when I was younger. But that is because I am too old now not to be.

Bullying Prevention Month

This October is Bullying Prevention Month. Since my childhood, I have seen an enormous rise in awareness and discussion of bullying, in understanding the seriousness of this behavior and the enormous, horrible ramifications it can have. Both my husband and I experienced bullying directed at us in junior high, some physical (his) and some emotional (me). I would never want to repeat this time.

And yet, despite having been the target of unkind, hurtful, persistent behavior, I also engaged in unkind, hurtful behavior. When I was in 8th grade, I was mean to another girl named Sarah. Incredibly mean. I was friends with a different girl who said I should tell Sarah that we did not want to be friends with her anymore. I am not even sure why this came about, or why Sarah was the target of such bullying. What I know is I was so desperate to be friends with the other girl, so hungry for her approval, so hanging on to her every word, that, one February lunch period when we were crammed into the B Gym at Coleman Middle School, I marched right over to Sarah and announced that we no longer wanted to hang out with her. I still distinctly remember saying the words my other friend had coached me, "We think we've hung around you too long" and the crestfallen look on her face as I uttered that pronouncement. 

Eighth grade was the worst year of my life. Telling Sarah, who had been nothing but friendly to me, and had invited me to her birthday party the previous summer, that I did not want to spend time with her is the most awful thing I can remember doing. I feel horrified I acted in such a horrible manner, but my guilt is nothing compared to the complete hurt that Sarah must have felt. 

This whole bullying incident arose because I was so hungry to gain social approval from one particular friend that I was willing to throw another person under the bus. And I imagine the circumstances may be different but the underlying emotions are often the same - people are often so insecure about their own social status that they engage in horrible behavior with other people. 

My hope and prayer is that all children today have a much stronger moral compass than I did. That they realize that no "friendship" is worth acting cruelly to another person. That they recognize that even if they feel pressured into bullying another, that they are the person 110% responsible and at fault if they engage in such behavior. That they have the strength to tell others that, no, they will never act meanly toward another person. That they treat all people with kindness and respect. That they do not end up like me, reflecting decades later, wondering how and why I could have acted so awfully. That they can look at themselves with pride in the mirror. That they aren't ever the Mean Girl. 

Bullying prevention requires all of us. But sometimes, it starts with looking in the mirror. 

Flexible and Adaptable

My daughter would be the first to agree she is not naturally flexible or adaptable. She has certain foods she prefers to eat. Transitions are challenging. New experiences are overwhelming. Not knowing what to expect is terrifying.

One mantra our family has developed: "Flexible and adaptable." You don't want to eat the spicy chicken curry we've prepared for dinner? Flexible and adaptable. The obstacle course is overwhelming after injuring your knee? Flexible and adaptable. You aren't sure what you want to do with the rest of your life and it is scary not to have everything planned out already? Flexible and adaptable.

What has surprised me, though, about this mantra, is how often it applies to ME. As an adult, I have control over my daily schedule, the foods I eat, the activities I take part in, my life choices I have made. I don't enjoy the taste of iced tea? I don't have to drink it when served. I don't feel comfortable swimming in open water? I don't have to sign up for any triathlons. I don't want to play video games with my family? No one is forcing me to do so. I am constantly harping on my daughter to be flexible and adaptable while often being rather inflexible myself.

As with everything in life, there is a balance. It's good to be flexible and adaptable - but it is also valuable to have autonomy, a voice, independence. It's good to try new things - but it is okay to not join activities proven to be a poor fit. It's good to spread our wings - but it is important to honor the inner voice inside us. Finding where this balance lies is a life-long endeavor.

And as for my family, I'll nudge my daughter to keep trying foods outside her comfort zone, to give new experiences a chance, to push herself in uncharted waters. And I'll challenge myself to take more risks, try new activities, mix things up. But we will also honor routines that give structure and security to life. Because life is all about balance.